


Go, Johnny, Go

by juliusschmidt



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blow Jobs, Facials, Light BDSM, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-16
Updated: 2013-06-16
Packaged: 2017-12-15 03:36:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/844841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juliusschmidt/pseuds/juliusschmidt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jonny gives Kaner a ticket. To the courthouse. Kaner gives Jonny a ticket. To the <s>love shack</s> hockey game.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Go, Johnny, Go

**Author's Note:**

> My only warning is this: somehow the idea of sexy-police-officer-Jonny porn devolved into light, playful bdsm, with Kaner in the driver’s seat and a side of Mario Kart. If you’re looking for handcuffs and guns, so was I. I don’t know where they went. (Maybe you can find them and write them for me?) I do know where Yoshi is, though. He’s watching Jonny and Kaner go at it. Enjoy! 
> 
> Title from the song _Johnny B. Goode_ by Chuck Berry.

_88Balla_. Fuckin’ really?

The asshole with the vanity plate in question is driving a _hummer_ , a _red_ hummer, 90 miles an hour down the Eisenhower.

Jonny turns on his lights because this dick is begging for a citation.

The guy slows down almost immediately.

Jonny approaches, already writing the ticket in his head. He gets so much satisfaction in taking rich assholes down a few pegs.

The guy rolls down his window and he’s smiling, a dimple-flashing, shit-eating grin. And, of fuckin' course, he is. He’s Patrick Kane. Not just any rich asshole, then.

And that makes Jonny’s day. But he keeps his frown even.

“Sir, license and registration, please?”

“Officer, I’m real sorry,” Patrick Kane says. Sure, he is. Real sorry that he’s about to get a ticket, more like.

“License and registration?”  

Kane reaches over to dig in his glove box. Jonny watches the material of his shirt stretch across his shoulders. It’s a nice set of shoulders. Of course, it is. He’s a professional hockey player. 

“I’m running late,” Kane says, handing Jonny the paperwork.

Jonny leans against the hummer door. “Really,” he says. And that one word always draws it out of them. Kane is no exception.

“I’m late for practice and it’s the second time this week.” He bangs his head against his headrest as he says it. What a fuckin’ whiner. The thought makes Jonny smile because he’s always suspected as much.  

“I’m sorry, sir.” Jonny says. Then, trying to keep his face serious, he adds, “Now, if you were late to work or something, then I might be more lenient.”

Kane tilts his head and squints at Jonny, clearly trying to figure out whether Jonny’s messing with him. “I play hockey professionally,” he says.

“Good for you,” Jonny says, turning to head back to his vehicle.

“Officer,” Kane calls out. Jonny turns around to see Kane’s tongue running over his lips, slow and deliberate. They’re fuckin’ gorgeous lips, chapped and bruised and bitten. Jonny would love to--

“Officer, I’m sure we could work out a deal.” Kane licks his lips again.

What the fuck. “Are you drunk?” Jonny asks. Because he’s heard things about Patrick Kane and alcohol.

“What? No. Why?”

Jonny doesn’t answer. He just scowls because it should be obvious. People, professional male athletes in particular, do not usually blatantly proposition police officers. In the middle of the day. On busy highways.

Patrick Kane chews his lip and drums his fingers on the steering wheel. And goddamn if Jonny’s ever been this tempted by bribery before.

“Seriously, Officer, I could definitely get you tickets to a Hawks game, like, real sweet seats,” Kane offers, rolling his shoulders and not looking at Jonny.

Okay. Damn. Maybe Jonny misjudged the situation.

“I’m going to give you a break and pretend I didn’t just hear you offer a bribe to a police officer.”

Jonny goes to his car because, fuck, he needs to clear his head. And write this arrogant dick a ticket.

When he returns to the hummer and hands Kane the paperwork, the guy bangs his head against the back of his seat, again, and says, “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Mr. Kane, I clocked you at 91 miles per hour. This is a 55 zone.”

Kane looks at him, eyes wide, pleading, and a little bit desperate. Jonny’s stomach flips.

“If I get convicted, this is enough points for me to lose my license.”

This asshole is totally at Jonny’s mercy. Jonny fights back a smile. “Shoulda thought of that before engaging in such reckless behavior, sir.”

The guy clenches his fists and breathes hard.

Jonny says, “Slow down out there,” and walks back to his car.

~~~

Jonny shows up to the court date. The press has caught wind of the incident and it shouldn’t be a huge deal, but, in the scope of Jonny boring life, it kind of is.

Kane doesn’t show up, but his lawyer does. And the judge drops the ticket before even hearing Jonny out. Of course, he does.

Patrick Kane needs his driver’s license in order to win big for the city, for hockey, for America.

~~~

Jonny flicks his lights and pulls out without thinking. Patrick Kane’s red hummer just blew past him. At 57 miles per hour.

Fuck. That was not what he meant to do.

Kane pulls over.

When he rolls down his window, he looks pissed. And Jonny gets it. He really does. But, shit, maybe his tail light is out. He can’t know.

Jonny says, “Sir, do you know why I pulled you over?”

He kind of hopes the guy gives him a reason. Maybe he blew a red light or a stop sign recently.

Kane doesn’t look at Jonny. He shakes his head and licks his lips. Goddamn those lips.

Jonny frowns and then goes for it. “You were speeding.” It’s true. Sort of.

Kane shoots him a skeptical look, brows drawn and mouth down, before leaning over, toward his glove compartment. “Whatever, Officer,” he says.

Jonny takes the license and registration. He decides he’s not going to write the guy a ticket. But he might as well make him sweat a bit.

When he returns to Kane’s vehicle a few minutes later, he says, “I’ve decided to let you off with a warning, this time.”

Kane laughs. He fuckin’ laughs. Jonny breathes out, heavily. “You’re welcome,” he says.

Kane replies, “A warning. That’s rich. Okay, Officer.” Jonny’s watches him for a second. For some dumb-ass reason Jonny finds that shitty smirk really attractive.

Then, Kane says, “There are easier ways to get my autograph.” He pulls out a sharpie and signs a McDonald’s receipt.

Jonny takes it without thinking and Kane rolls up his window, calling out, “See ya!”

~~~

The thing is, Jonny really likes hockey. He plays in an amateur Saturday league and he tries to watch as many Blackhawks games as his work schedule allows.

So when he wins a department-wide raffle for a pair of VIP tickets to a Blackhawks game, he accepts them and invites his buddy TJ, a guy from his team, to take the second ticket.

After the game, TJ grabs him by the arm and starts to lead him through a series of dark hallways and complicated turns. At a few points, the security guards seem to be about to stop them, but TJ flashes them his VIP necklace and they nod, as if that means something. Which Jonny knows it does not. Private fuckin' security. Police academy rejects, more like.

Jonny doesn’t worry about it too much, though. He’s feeling happy and chatty, buzzed from the win and the beer and the time with TJ. It was a great game to watch. And fuck if Kane’s game winning, power-play goal didn’t make him a little hard. That man is a fuckin' great hockey player.

“One of my friends told me how to get back here,” TJ tells him. “We can probably get some of the players’ autographs.”

TJ played in college, at UND, and has some friends in the league. Apparently, that means he _knows_ things.

Which is awesome. Because Jonny would love some autographed Blackhawks gear. Maybe he can get his number 88 jersey--

“Fuck. TJ. Are you sure we should do this? I kind of want to get home.”

TJ wraps an arm around his shoulders and says, “Jonny, my boy, we’re working on your adventurous side. You’re about two minutes away from meeting your hockey idols. I’m not gonna let you back out now, buddy.”

He’s drunk, too, Jonny thinks. Drunker, even, than Jonny. Maybe.

They can’t do this. And Jonny can’t tell him why.

Eventually a security guard does stop them, only raising a skeptical eyebrow at TJ’s proferred VIP necklace.  TJ says, “Hey, we’re friends of Bollig’s. He should be expecting us.”

The security guard looks them up and down. Then he turns away to talk into his radio. In TJ’s ear, Jonny hisses,“You don’t know Brandon Bollig for shit. What’d you say that for?”

TJ waggles his eyebrows. “He’s a friend of a friend. He’s supposed to let us in. It’s going to be great, Jonny. Just great.”

The security guard says, “Okay, first hall on your right. You can wait outside with the other family and friends.”

Bollig comes out of the locker room right as they turn the corner and waves at them. “You must be TJ,” he calls.

TJ nods and sticks out his hand. He says, “And this is my friend Jonny.”

Bollig says to TJ, “Heard you were good, probably good enough to get signed somewhere.”

TJ shrugs, because he’s a douchebag, and Jonny says, “He’s making the big bucks instead. As a fuckin’ banker.”

Bollig smiles, “That’s less risky, I guess.”

“Not really,” TJ replies. He’s beginning to compliment Bollig on the game when Jonny hears Patrick Kane.

He’s coming out of the locker room in a nicely tailored grey suit, talking to Patrick Sharp.

Jonny decides he’s going to be mature about the whole thing. And ignore him. He probably won’t recognize Jonny anyway. It’s been about two weeks since the second speeding incident and, well, Jonny’s not in uniform.

TJ ruins it. Of course, he does. He interrupts whatever stupid story he’s telling Bollig about their mutual buddy to shout, “Patrick Kane! You’re Jonny here’s favorite player. Can you sign his jersey?”

Of course, he fuckin’ does.

Kane turns to smile at them. He meets Jonny’s eyes, smile not wavering. And Jonny can't figure out if he’s been recognized. Kane pulls a sharpie out of nowhere and gestures for Jonny to turn around.

TJ is still talking. “It’s not like you’d know you’re his favorite player from the way he cusses at you when you’re out on the ice, though. Or maybe you would, actually. Cause he’s all like ‘Put it in, Kaner. Fuck yeah, stick it in there. Oh my god. Patrick Kane. Put it fucking in already. Come on. Come on.’ You get it the idea.”

TJ’s Jonny-falsetto is dumb and inaccurate.

Kane laughs, and so do Sharp and Bollig. Fuckin’ TJ.

After a moment, Kane says, “Alright guys, have a good night. See you around.”

It isn’t till they’re waiting at blue line stop for an inbound train, that TJ begins to read Jonny’s jersey, now signed by half a dozen Blackhawks players.

He says, “Holy shit, Jonny.”

“What?”

“Kane, at least, I think this is Kane, wrote, ‘Call me, Officer Jonny’ and then left a number. What the fuck? Have you...? How did he know what you do? Holy shit. He gave you his number. What the fuck?”

What the fuck, indeed. Jonny is not going to call the asshole. He’s not.

~~~

Jonny normally doesn’t respond to noise violations. On weekend nights, he doesn’t have time for that shit. And, on other nights, they don’t get many calls, thank god.

This one comes in on a slow Tuesday for a penthouse in Trump Towers. And Jonny’s first thought is, why can’t the goddamn building security take care of it?

However, the staffer on call says that the security people were the ones that phoned in the issue. Apparently, the place in question didn’t quiet down at any of their multiple requests. Also, they suspect underage drinking. And maybe weed.

Awesome. Jonny’s favorite kind of bust. Wasted-ass rich kids.

When he gets to the suite, he has to admit that the party is really fuckin' loud. Patrick Kane opens the door.

Fuck. Why did no one tell him the bust was on Kane?

Kane grins and puts a finger to Jonny’s chest, right on his name badge.  

“Officer Toes! You should’ve called first!”

“It’s pronounced ‘Tayvz.’”

“Taves?” he says, looking sour. “How about I just call you Tazer? Get it?“ Kane takes a swig from the bottle of vodka in his hand.

“No.”

Kane offers Jonny the vodka, nodding at him to have a drink. “Like, cause you carry around a taser and that kind of sounds like--”

“I get it. Don’t call me that.” He pushes the bottle of vodka away and their fingers brush. Kane waggles his eyebrows.

“There’ve been complaints about the noise coming from this apartment,” Jonny says.

Kane’s face falls. Jonny wonders if Kane actually thought he was at his apartment for the party. In his uniform.

“You didn’t call,” Kane says. He sounds sad.

“Mr. Kane, I am here about the noise. If that’s not taken care of, I’m going to have write you up. I’ve also been alerted to the fact that there may be some criminal activity in the apartment such as illegal drugs and underage drinking.”

Kane squints at him. “I’ll make you a deal,” he says, rubbing at the stubble on his chin. “I’ll quiet this place down, if you promise to call me. Soon.”

Jonny shakes his head and fights a smile. “That is not how this works. You quiet down or I write you a ticket.”

Kane smiles and turns around. He shouts back into the apartment, “Turn that shit down, Shawsy, or your ass is grass.” The volume of the music lowers immediately.

“Call me,” Kane says and winks, closing the door in Jonny’s face.

~~~

Jonny’s pulling off his jersey, drenched in sweat from the game, when TJ says, “I’d sure as hell love to be at the UC tomorrow night.”

“Hawks and Wings, classic rivalry,” Jonny agrees, nodding and loosening the laces on his skates.

TJ’s watching him closely. He says, “So, uh, bro, you think you can get us tickets?”

Jonny pulls off his shoulder pads. “How the fuck would I do that?”

TJ narrows his eyes, and suggests, “Ask your friend.”

Jonny rolls his shoulders. “You ask your friends, you fucker.”

TJ puts an arm around Jonny and shakes his head sadly. “My friends are not as powerful as yours. One call, Jonny. That’s all it would take. I know you still have his number. On your jersey.” TJ pauses and then adds, “And on your heart.”

“Fuck off,” Jonny says, but he thinks about it.

He probably could get tickets. Kane owes him a favor for not busting him and his young-ass friends the other night.

Fuckin’ hell. He _is_ going to call him.

~~~

“Patrick Kane, speaking. Who the fuck is this?”

Nice, very professional way to answer the phone.

“Jonathan Toews,” Jonny answers, somehow managing to remain calm and polite. The asshole was begging for a call and now he pulls this shit.

“Um,” Kane replies. He’s clearly searching, no idea who Jonny is.

“ _Officer_ Jonathan Toews,” Jonny adds. If that doesn’t ring a bell, he’s hanging up. He really fuckin' is.

“Tazer!” Jonny can hear Kane’s smile.

“That is not my name,” Jonny remarks. Okay, he’s gonna ask for the tickets. It’ll be easy.

“Man, I am so glad you called. You wanna--”

Jonny cuts him off because if he doesn’t come right out with it, he’s not going to be able to say it at all. “I was wondering if it would be possible to get tickets for the game tomorrow.”

Kane laughs, but it’s not a happy laugh. Still, he says, “Sure, but it’s going to cost you.”

“Yeah, of course,” Jonny says, “I can pay, they’re just sold out.” He hadn’t really expected that, but whatever, he’s got a little saved up in his entertainment account. And TJ can suck it, if he does’t like it. Jonny made the goddamn call.

“No,” Kane says. “Save your money. I want to whoop your ass in Mario Kart.”

“What?” Because: what?

“Mario Kart? The video game?” Kane supplies.

“You will give me tickets to the hockey game in return for letting you beat me in Mario Kart?” That is the most confusing shit ever.

Kane laughs. “No, you have to play me, like for real. I will destroy you. If you’re not working, you should come over tonight. It’s my only night off and home for awhile. I can have the tickets for you then.”

Jonny’s not working tonight. But this is weird. It feels like Patrick Kane is trying to make friends with him. Or maybe sleep with him. Or both. Or something.

He says, “Sure, yeah. Sounds fun.” Because, maybe, it kind of does?

“I know you know where I live, Tazer. See you around 8.” Kane hangs up out without saying goodbye.

Fuckin’ impolite, is what he is.

~~~

The first thing Kane says when he opens the door is: “You’re not in uniform.” And he actually sounds kind of pissed about it.

Jonny glances down. He’s wearing khaki shorts and a wash-worn CPD tee shirt. It’s about the closest he gets to being in uniform, off duty.

“Sorry, man,” Jonny says. “I didn’t know you were into that.”

Jonny means it as a joke, but Kane says, “You didn’t get that?”

And then he shoves Jonny back, up against the door, pinning Jonny’s hands over his head. Kane’s strong and the force of the hit stings. Fuck, yeah. Jonny can get on board with this.

Against Jonny’s ear, Kane says, “This’ll do for now, but next time I expect you in full uniform. Handcuffs, too.”

Jonny moans because that’s not something he’d ever thought he’d be into, but, right now, pressed, helpless, against Kane’s door, Jonny cannot think of anything better.

Kane thrusts against him. He’s already hard. Fuck. “Got that, Tazer?”

Jonny nods into his neck, the brush of Kane’s curls sending shivers down Jonny’s own neck and spine, straight to his dick. Which is also already fuckin’ hard. Shit.

“I didn’t hear you,” Kane grunts and bites into the hollow beneath Jonny’s ear.

“Yeah, I got it,” Jonny says, his voice low and rough. “You like to be ordered around? Put in your place, handcuffed, told you’re in deep trouble, that you’ve been very bad, that sort of shit?”

Kaner pulls back and licks his lips. He smiles, first halfway, and then with his whole face, starting to laugh.

Jonny watches him, blinking, because, shit, that hurts. He was trying to be kinky, not funny.

Kane calms and then, face serious, looking Jonny directly in the eye, he says, “No, Officer, I want to show you fuckin’ cops your goddamn place.”

Jonny’s dick jumps in his shorts. Okay, that’s hot. Way hotter than Jonny’s suggestion. His interest must show on his face because Kane grins, satisfied-like, and nods.

He steps back from Jonny. “Okay, let’s play,” he says, walking into another room, the living room, Jonny discovers as he follows. Mario Kart is already loaded up on his Wii.

Twenty minutes later, Jonny is certain that Mario Kart was a cover. There’s no way Kane called him over to actually play because he fuckin’ sucks. He has not won a single race.

They’re in the middle of a course when Kane sets down his controller and watches Jonny continue to play.

“Tazer.”

Jonny’s Yoshi is just pulling ahead of Bowser.

“Officer,” Kaner tries again, with more of an edge to his voice. Jonny turns to look at him.

Wearing that half smirk, he says, “Pause the game and take off your shirt.” He folds his arms across his chest.

Jonny does as Kane says, losing eye contact for only the few seconds as his shirt passes over his head.

“Very nice, Officer,” Kane says. He gestures to the game, “Please, keep playing.”

Jonny unpauses the game, aware of Kane sliding closer to him on the couch.

As he turns a corner on the course, Kane flicks a thumb over his nipple, twice. Jonny’s breath catches as he feels his nipple stiffen, but, somehow, Yoshi manages to stay on the track. Kane brings his lips to Jonny’s chest, running his tongue over the hardened bud. Holy shit.

Kane moves up, to mouth at Jonny’s neck. Which feels nice, hot and wet, yet not quite as distracting as before, with his nipple. Until Kane begins to use his teeth. He bites down, hard enough and long enough to leave a mark. Jonny cries out and drops the controller. On screen, Yoshi falls off a bridge and into the abyss. Jonny’s hands scramble to find their way under Kane’s tee-shirt.

Kane disentangles himself, sitting back and shaking his head. “Keep playing, Tazer.”

“Fuck you,” Jonny says, but he picks up the remote. As soon as Yoshi’s driving again, Kane’s hands begin to fiddle with Jonny’s belt buckle. One finger slides in between his shorts and the soft skin of Jonny’s belly and, fuck, Jonny’s boner is back, full force.

Kane slides the belt out from the loops, slow as shit, so Jonny feels the pressure move around his waist. Then, he kneels beside the couch, betwenn Jonny’s legs. Jonny’s vaguely aware of him turning to check the screen. But, honestly, Jonny’s having a lot of difficulty maintaining any sort of focus. Mouth against Jonny’s belly, Kane says, “You’re not doing so well. You’re better than this, I’ve seen you _win_ , Tazer.”

And okay, Jonny’s fuckin’ sweet at this game, but right now he is also so fuckin’ hard. There’s a wet spot on the front of his shorts, where he’s leaking precome. He tries not to think about it. He tries to focus on driving straight.

Kane’s unbuttoning and then unzipping him. “Ass up,” Kane instructs, as he tugs both Jonny’s shorts and his boxerbriefs to the ground to puddle around Jonny’s feet. He burries his face in the crook between Jonny’s thigh and balls, mouth open, licking at the sensitive crease.

It’s gotta fuckin smell down there, Jonny thinks, as Yoshi dives off a cliff. Kane sucks one of Jonny’s balls into his mouth and Jonny can’t help it. He moans and grips at Kane’s hair. Grunting, Kane bites Jonny’s thigh and says, “You better fucking finish this course.”

Jonny’s eyes, now only half open, flit back up to the screen where Yoshi sits on the cliff waiting for him to hit the gas. Kaner’s still for a moment, maybe also waiting for Jonny to start again, and so, with a deep breath, Jonny does.

Just when Jonny’s really getting going, like he’s just passed through his first rainbow question mark in ages, Kane puts Jonny’s dick in his mouth.

The sensation surprises Jonny enough that he drops the controller, again, and grabs at Kane’s shoulders. Kane meets his eyes, giving him a few hard sucks before pulling off to say, “Are you a quitter, Tazer? Are you quitter?”

Jonny scratches the back of his neck and shakes his head. Fuck this guy, anyway.

Kane reaches up to rub Jonny’s nipple.

“Oh fuck,” Jonny says, feeling the touch in his balls.

“Finish the course,” Kane repeats and goes back to tonguing Jonny’s dick.

Jonny breaths out a shaky breath and picks up the controller.

Kane grabs the base of his cock with one hand, now jerking and twisting and sucking all at once. As far as blow jobs go, it’s really fuckin’ great, and Jonny’s hands are shaking as he directs Yoshi through a cave, around a banana peel, and out into the sunlight.  

When Kane speeds up, Jonny thinks he’s gonna a lose it. He realizes he’s shifting his hips a little, canting them toward Kane’s eager mouth. Jonny feels his balls tighten and Yoshi’s just sitting there.

Kane stops and says, voice ragged, “You’re so close, Tazer. Just finish it.” And Jonny really thinks he might come over Kane’s hand and face, right that second, but then Kane clarifies, “Finish the race.”

Jonny refocuses, which is especially difficult because so does Kane, taking him deeper and deeper, back into his throat. Jonny hears his own breath coming in quick, shallow pants. His toes are curling in the rug.

And then it's there, in front of him: the finish line. He’s gonna fuckin’ do this. It’s a straight away, so he hits the gas with one hand and fists Kane’s hair with the other.

Kane moans around him and Jonny looks down to see him rubbing himself through his jeans with his free hand.

And Kane seems fuckin’ into it, so Jonny let’s himself go, thrusting into his mouth a little wildly.

Jonny doesn’t see Yoshi cross the finish line, he’s too busy watching Kane’s lips, red and slick with saliva and precome, work around his dick. But he hears Kane’s character, Princess Peach, say, “Yay. All right! Maybe next time!’ And he comes.

Kane sucks him through his climax, hard and slow, swallowing as he finally moves off. He’s got his own dick out, but all his clothes are still on. He says, hoarsely, “Officer, I’m gonna come on your face, now.”

It’s not a question, but the way he pauses and meets Jonny’s eyes is. Jonny nods, and suddenly Kane is pushing him to his back on the couch, his cock inches from Jonny’s mouth.

“Yeah, come on, give it to me,” Jonny says, because that’s what they do in porn.

Kane says, again wearing that half grin, “Shut the fuck up and watch.”

And Jonny does. He watches the flex of Kane’s fingers, the way he twists every third stroke or so, the way his smooth pink head disappears in and out of his fist. He’s speeding up, faster and faster, and then a rope of white hot come spills across Jonny’s cheek and another stripes his lips and another drips slowly down the back of Kane’s hand.

Jonny licks his lips and Kane groans. “I’ve wanted to do that to you since you first pulled me over,” he says.

“That’s about how long I’ve been imagining your mouth stretching around my dick,” Jonny replies.

Kane smiles, wide and happy, and wipes at Jonny’s cheek. “I wasn’t kidding,” he says. “We should do this again.”

Jonny nods. “I can probably get my hands on a pair of handcuffs.”

Kane nods and says, “You do that, Officer. You do that.”

~~~

The seats are fuckin’ awesome.

“This is the shit!” TJ shouts, as they settle into them. “How the fuck did you manage this?”

Jonny feels himself flush, but he shrugs and doesn’t answer.

TJ laughs. “That lucky fuck. I’ve been trying to get you to suck my dick for years.”

Jonny shakes his head, “I didn’t--”

TJ puts up a hand. “Spare me, please.”


End file.
